Daily Lives of Two Really Cool Guys
by MilkLog
Summary: There's never a dull day in the Strider household. Though some may pale from the unthinkable antics that Dave and Bro get up to day to day, someone had to record them. That someone being me. Swearing and mild violence.


Dave's first thought upon waking up was, "Damn, I'd like me some spaghettios." However unusual this may seem, it was not uncommon as his thoughts when he clambered out of bed were often of food.

Throwing off his covers, he got dressed, put on his shades and headed to the kitchen, on the hunt for his precious pasta based cargo.

"Spaghettios, spaghettios, where are my spaghettios." He whistled to himself as he leant on the kitchen sideboard, awaiting the noise of a can of spaghettios being opened and popped in the microwave.

But there was no spaghettio noise. That was strange. Usually Bro was up bright and early eating his cereal and prepared to make whatever unsuitable breakfast Dave wanted. Dave himself hated the idea of making his own breakfast. His body just couldn't cope with getting up and beginning to work without at least an hours rest before he did anything. That was Bro's job – doing the things Dave couldn't be bothered to.

Unfortunately for Dave, Bro didn't seem to be there. Bummer.

Well, if he wasn't in the kitchen, he was probably either watching TV or on the computer. Then again there was the odd chance that Bro was preparing a mutiny and instead of making Dave his breakfast he was sleeping in. Though Dave doubted that, not that he didn't think Bro would do that, just that he didn't want to think about working this early in the morning.

There were no muffled voices or explosion noises coming from the living room, and when Dave turned to see if there was anyone there, the television screen was blank. That left the chance of computer and sleeping in – hopefully computer.

"Bro?" Dave carefully stepped into his brother's room across the hall and looked around. "Bro I need you to make me some spaghettios." His voice echoed around the mess room, but no reply was given. The bed was bare save for a the bedsheets and discarded polo-shirt.

Stepping over a pile of awkwardly placed smuppets and a few Cheetos packets, he picked his way towards the bed and ran his hand over the mattress. The sheets were still warm and the creases looked fresh, the quilt stank too.

"Gross." Dave said. "But where the heck are you man?"

A beeping noise came from the otherside of the room where Bro's computer had suddenly lit up. The screen was locked, but Dave could see a small notification in the corner that said in thick, capital letters, '**EMAIL**'.

It was the that Dave noticed a page of yellow note-pad paper taped to the gently glowing screen. Walking towards the cluttered dusk Dave plucked the note from the screen and began to read it.

In large, messy scrawls, it said:

_Dave,  
Gone out to get more cereal. There are spaghettios in the cupboard. Don't touch the ramen, I'm saving it for dinner.  
Call me if you need something, man.  
Bro._

"Aw hell no." Dave muttered, scrunching the paper up in his fist. "You may leave me spaghettios and damn do I want me some spaghettios, but no Bro of mine goes out to get cereal without me."

He felt a huge amount of anger swelling up inside of him, an unnecessary amount really. Guess the little shit just really wanted to choose the cereal.

"God." He said, rubbing a speck of dirt from his dark glasses, "All this drama's got me down, I need a pep talk. Where's Egbert?"

Hastily stuffing Bro's note in his pocket, Dave left his brother's room and returned to his preferred place of accommodation. His computer was on the blink when he entered, a large yellow alert flashing on the screen.

**ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

It said.

Dave smirked and sat down at his computer, opening his pesterchum account to see what John had sent him.

**EB: Dude i need to thank you**

**EB: you were right, getting rid of all that Crocker stuff was a great idea.**

**TG: egbert**

**EB: what**

**TG: egbert i dont want to talk about your dumb fucking pastry problems or w/e**

**TG: i have a problem that's like**

**TG: 32.68 times more important than yours**

**EB: oh god**

**EB: what have you done this time?**

**TG: i havent done anything**

**TG: its entirely my bros fault**

**EB: Dave**

**EB: last time you were really mad at your brother was because he bought the wrong flavour of insta noodles**

**EB: so im pretty sure this time wont be too different**

**TG: he left me john**

**EB: wait what**

**TG: he left**

**EB: oh my god**

**EB: what do you mean**

**TG: HE WENT OUT TO GET CEREAL WITHOUT ME MAN**

**EB: oh**

**TG: DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT HURTS**

Dave paused as he typed. The caps-lock made him look a little melodramatic, he should probably stop. Then again melodrama is probably something that he could get into.

Ironically though.

He'd never be caught like those sappy cliché central stories for real.

Never

**EB: dave, i don't know if you have some kind of weird cereal obsession with cereal or what ever**

**TG: i dont**

**EB: but you really need to stop taking things so seriously**

**EB: youre turning into some melodrama queen**

**TG: WOW**

**TG: what a way to support your distressed friend john**

**TG: you literally just opened up a 50 fucking karat gold gate towards a beautiful gem encrusted bathroom where ill write some heartbreaking rap-ballad about how my own brother abandoned me and not even my best bro would help me get over it**

**TG: ill call it dave**

**TG: fuck yeah **

**EB: yeah okay, but why a gem encrusted bathroom? wouldnt a study or studio make more sense**

**TG: stuff you Egbert im going to make spaghettios**

**turntechGodhead [TG] stopped pestering ectoBiologist [EB]**

Dave switched his monitor off and rose from his seat as the screen went blank. He exited his room and stomped moodily towards the kitchen.

Standing on his toes, he opened a cupboard and reached for a can of spaghettios on the top shelf. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed another piece of pale yellow note-paper taped to the inside of the cupboard door.

'_Touch my ramen and you're dead, Dave' _

"I don't want your dumb ramen anyway, you dumb cereal traitor." Dave hissed, grabbing his can of spaghettios and slamming it down on the sideboard.

Despite his angry disposition however, the thoughts going through Dave's mind at that point were probably something along the lines of, "Please don't hate me for that, I still love you man I just really love cereal too." Except probably without all the proper punctuation and capitilisation.

It was then, after uttering words that he was sure he would regret later, that Dave remembered there were cameras in the kitchen.

"Aw, shit." He said, "Bro I didn't mean that; your ramen's great. Even if you do just stick it in boiling water and wait for it to smell good."

He paused as if waiting for an answer – nothing but silence ensued. Probably because he was talking to a camera but you never really know what's going to happen in the Strider household, now do you?

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna put my spaghettios in the microwave and uh … I'll be back in a minute … um … bye."

Dave promptly fished a can-opener from the cutlery drawer, wrenched open the spaghettios can and thrust them into the microwave. He stood awkwardly beside the microwave for a second before realising he could come back for his spaghettios later.

He crossed the hallway back to his room and took a bee-line straight to the computer. He switched the monitor back on see another pesterchum notification on his screen.

"Here we go again." Dave sighed.

**tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG]**

**TT: John tells me you have a cereal dilemma.**

**TT: I hate to pry but what exactly did your dearly beloved brother do to your cereal to stir you in such a way?**

**TG: he went to buy it without me**

**TG: it being cereal**

**TG: what do you mean dearly beloved anyway**

**TT: Well, you idolise your brother in such a way and brag about how brilliant he that makes it seem almost as if he's some sort of God.**

**TT: Albeit a rather odd looking God. A God in pointy sunglasses and a pointless baseball cap that he never takes off.**

**TT: All that aside you almost literally worship your brother, Dave.**

**TG: well if i did i don't anymore**

**TG: i just told his stupid cameras a whole load of shit about how i forgave him**

**TG: said some dumb stuff about how good his ramen is**

**TG: have to admit though**

**TG: my ramens mediocre at best**

**TG: but bros ramen could blow all the whales outta the water**

**TG: but like**

**TG: in a good way**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: i told his cameras i forgive him**

**TG: but i don't**

**TT: What a riveting tale, young Master Strider.**

**TT: I am utterly captivated by the enthralling tragedy of your waning love for you brother.**

**TG: there should be a movie**

**TT: Absolutely. The award-winning blockbluster that warmed and then promptly broke the hearts of thousands.**

**TT: The story of two of brothers parted by cereal.**

**TG: ill call it dave**

**TG: fuck yea**

**TT: Sorry to change the subject the subject, but shouldn't your spaghettios be done by now?**

**TG: usually my bro makes my spaghettios for me**

**TG: idk how long theyre supposed to go in for**

**TG: wait how did you know about my spaghettios**

**TT: John.**

**TT: He told me everything. Well, most things. At least as much of your conversation that leads me to believe that not only is the movie about you and your brother called 'Dave', after yourself, but also the rap-ballad that you will supposedly write in a gem-encrusted bathroom.**

**TG: rap-ballad dave can be the end credits song to award-winning movie dave**

**TG: everybody wins**

**TT: Yes, of course. How blind of me.**

**TG: oh fuck**

**TT: What?**

**TG: i just heard a balls crazy noise**

**TG: i think I just broke my microwave**

**TG: FUCK ITS NOT EVEN MY MICROWAVE**

**TG: EVERYTHING THAT ISNT IN MY ROOM BELONGS TO MY BRO**

**TG: ROSE I GOTTA GO I THINK I BROKE MY BROTHERS MICROWAVE**

**turntechGodhead [TG] stopped pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]**

In a flustered rush of sweaty thirteen year old, Dave thundered furiously out of his bedroom. Flinging himself into the kitchen at the speed his own mood could change when the word irony was mentioned, he stared wide-eyed at the microwave through dark lenses.

The glass viewing panel of the microwave was completely obscured by a thick red sludge. With a sharp intake of breath he skittered towards the microwave and pressed his face against the glass.

"No, no, no, fuuuuuck…. Spaghettios aren't even that colour!" he stuttered, desperately hammering at the eject button on the microwave.

The door hissed slowly open, a flood of red-orange slime running slowly from within the microwave. It was thick and gloopy, bubbles emerged from the depths of it and then exploded softly almost as soon as they appeared.

"That's so gross, oh my God."Awkwardly fumbling with the kitchen-towel holder, Dave ripped off a large strip of paper towels and lay them down on the counter. "Bro's gonna fucking kill me, I'm fucking dead."

The paper towels did very little; at the most they turned the slightly off orange colour of the burnt spaghettios. Unfortunately for Dave, the mess the spaghettios had left were the least of his worries. A thin white smoke was spiralling from the microwave and the smell of burning and rotten fruit mingled grossly.

"Why does it smell like that? We don't even eat fruit!" he whimpered whilst frantically gathering a mush of paper towels and spaghettios in his hands. The small loops of pasta slipped from between his fingers and the sauce splattered with an unpleasant noise on the kitchen floor. Looked like the kitchen floor had only just been cleaned this morning as well – something else to get him in trouble when Bro got home. Wow.

Just when Dave thought things couldn't get any worse, he suddenly heard the low droning of the house phone on the corner sideboard. He cringed and shuffled warily towards the phone. Dropping what was left of the spaghetti covered paper towels on the sideboard, he picked up the phone in his sticky hands and put it to his ear.

"H-Hello?" he said, rubbing his left hand off on his trouser leg.

"Hey Dave, it's me. Did you get my note?" Bro's voice came through the phone shrouded in a veil of static – the house phone was a piece of crap and made anyone on the other end of it sound like an emotionless robot.

"Um, yeah, I did." Dave replied, trying to hide the worry and guilt in his voice.

"Okay, good. Did you get yourself something to eat?" Bro continued.

"Well, about that…"

"Aw, it doesn't matter." Bro interrupted. "I'll be home real soon. I'm downstairs actually, getting in the elevator now. See you."

Before Dave could add anything, the long, high-pitched beep that signified the end of a call came whistling through into Dave's ear and Bro hung up. Sighing, Dave turned to face the great big fucking mess he'd made.

"I gotta clean this shit up." He was just moving back towards the huge mass of slowly congealing pasta and sauce when a spine-chilling memory hit him in the back of the head. Fuck, cameras.

He couldn't exactly pinpoint the exact area of each beadily staring lens of every camera, but he knew vaguely where each one was placed. He turned to the fridge and stared guiltily at the dark space above it.

"This probably looks bad, but technically it's not my fault. That microwave is _really fucking hard to use_." Dave looked at his orange hands and the long, sticky stain down his leg. His gaze then switched to the eyesore that he'd left on the sideboard. "_Really_ hard to use."

Just then he heard a click from the living room. A slow creak announced the opening of a door as hasty footsteps echoed across the apartment and towards the kitchen.

"Dave I'm back, I got Cheerios so we can have a proper breakfast n-"

Bro paused in the doorway, two shopping bags in his hands; a box of cereal and tins in one and several bottles in the other. His face slowly contorted from content to angry as he spat,

"David fucking Strider you are dead."


End file.
